4-48am
by BabyBirdAlways
Summary: Inspired by a prompt: 'Kate calls Castle during the night and asks him to give her a reason for not ending it all.' The note at the beginning of the first chapter explains everything. -T for tame trigger warning, as evident from the prompt itself, but nothing too descriptive.- [06/08 - Epilogue added, as per the requests!]
1. Chapter 1

_**N.B: As the description states, this came from a prompt. The original request was for it to be set post 4x19 and 4x20 (and for it to be angsty, which is a given I think) but my mind went straight to 4x09 'Kill Shot', where Kate has the panic attack in the middle of the night. It also brought to mind one of my favourite plays, '4.48 Psychosis' by Sarah Kane, and it fitted so well with the prompt and the ideas I had that I've incorporated it. No pre-reading necessary, as it's contained within in parts, although I have edited it for language.**_

 _ **I'm also taking this little note section as an opportunity to remind you of the trigger potential; there's nothing too descriptive, but the prompt itself does give away to the nature of the fic. Thank you for taking the time to read it.**_

Flicking her eyes to the clock, Kate wipes away the tears that are all too present and paws at her face roughly, sweeping her hair away from where it's fallen to obscure her vision.

4.40am.

The bright red numbers are so bright, so blinding, she has to squint to lessen their impact on her tired, tearful eyes. Her head hurts, her injuries hurt, her mind is exhausted. Hyper vigilance and panic are not fitting states for a Police Detective; someone who should be able to control her feelings, to control her body's reactions at least enough to stop the trembling. To stop that panic, to quieten down the crying and screaming; she'd let herself go too far, even in the relative safety of her own apartment, had lost control so much that her neighbour had knocked to see if everything was ok. She assured her it was, obviously, that she was; proffering hollow smiles and well rehearsed laughs, all the while hiding her bandaged arm and the broken glass of the table behind the door as she peeked around it, one hand on her gun. A convincing effort. She'd left, anyhow, so she must have done something well enough to convince her.

Her eyes close reflexively as they fill up once again with tears, and she brushes them away angrily as she reaches to her side, searching with her palm out flat to feel the cool, heavy metal of her gun. Her protection, against someone who is after her with the very same 'protection', possibly the very same weapon. Her mind skips and jumps, offering unbidden snapshots that have played themselves out to the point of exhaustion; the thump of the shot as it pierced her chest, the thud as she hit the ground, the heavy, dead weight of Castle on top of her. She swings her legs to the side of the bed, touching at the bedside lamp as her feet land on the floor, squinting again at the unwelcome brightness. She rises fluidly, tugging at the cotton of her t shirt, to right where it's risen up and the NYPD logo is bunched up underneath her bra line from all the tossing and turning. Her mind wanders. What was that play she'd auditioned for in college? By that obscure British playwright, the one who'd offed herself the night before her play was due to open? Sarah… Sarah…

Scanning the bookshelf at the corner of her bedroom, her finger makes a 'thump thump thump' as she drags it over the spines of her college books, searching; a rhythm that pairs with her heartbeat in both its speed and its intensity. The noise stops as she finds the thin, well worn spine she's searching for.

Sarah Kane, that's it. She pulls it from the shelf, glancing momentarily at the black hole of negative space it leaves behind. She remembers from her art days – and from Castle's pumpkin carving 'masterclass' last Halloween – that negative space is most important. Funny, how a black space of nothing can be important. If only she could return her mind to a vast, negative space… Her legs cross automatically underneath her as she slides down, opening the book; it automatically falls wide at her favourite scripted part, tagged with a post it note that pulls other lines from their pages to form a sensible, lengthy monologue.

' _Your truth, your lies, not mine._

 _And while I was believing that you were different and that you maybe even felt the distress that sometimes flickered across your face and threatened to erupt, you were covering your arse too. Like every other stupid mortal._

 _To my mind that's betrayal. And my mind is the subject of these bewildered fragments._

 _Nothing can extinguish my anger._

 _And nothing can restore my faith._

 _This is not a world in which I wish to live.'_

The well learned lines come back out from the darkest recesses of her mind as she pulls at the post it, unsticking it from the page and holding it inches from her face, continuing to read her flowy, student writing.

' _How can I return to form now my formal thought has gone?_

 _Not a life that I could countenance._

 _They will love me for that which destroys me_

 _the sword in my dreams_

 _the dust of my thoughts_

 _After 4.48 I shall not speak again.'_

The paper falls from her hands as she closes her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath and flicking back to the very beginning of the book.

" _(A very long silence.) But you have friends._

 _(A long silence.) You have a lot of friends. What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?_

 _(A long silence.)What do you offer?_

 _(Silence.)"_

The panic begins to rise again; choking her, restricting her breathing until all she can hear or feel is the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears and the cascading of water down her cheeks. She throws the book, flinging it angrily against the wall; watching as the fragile binding loses its hold and gives out, scattering pages across the floor like the russet red leaves falling quietly, almost silently from her favourite tree in the autumn.

Friends.

She thinks, wiping at her cheeks robotically to catch the tears as they tickle at her blotched, salt raw skin, an unnecessarily itchy addition to the pain and feelings already threatening to burst out of her body.

Friends… to support…

…Castle.

' _Will he mind, being woken up at this hour? Probably not… but what if he's got someone with him? That would be awkward…Shit, no, what am I thinking. Pull yourself together, Kate.'_ Her mind races, and she flicks her eyes to her bedside table, squinting again to make sense of the bright red numbers.

4.44am.

Her eyes dart from side to side before they close again briefly, searching her mind, trying to remember the lines once more.

' _I had a night in which everything was revealed to me._

 _How can I speak again?'_

Castle.

She drags herself to her feet, ignoring the crack of her knees as she straightens her legs, an unequivocal tell of her lack of recent exercise. The kill shot had damaged her in more ways than one; her body was not as strong as it once was, unnaturally so, the same way as her mind was weak now too. Getting weepy over a couple of scars was so alien to her, so preposterous, as someone who had always been strong and steadfast – in the face of everything, even her mother's death. But not now… having something happen that was so beyond her control had changed everything. As Espo often joked: watching her deal with something she couldn't control was more fun than shark week. But it was true. Only this time it wasn't fun to watch, or be in the midst of. Stepping over the broken shards from her instinctive high-kick out at what turned out to be nothing more threatening than her glass occasional table, she leans to pick up her phone from the nightstand. It's heavy and cold in her hands, like her gun tucked into the thick waistband of her pyjama bottoms, and her chest heaves under the thin grey cotton of her police issue shirt.

She looks down at the screen, her finger poised to 'swipe to unlock', and her eye catches the white-bright time as it lights up in her hand.

4.45am.


	2. Chapter 2

She brushes at her cheeks again and heaves; hitching, desperate breaths, an attempt to control herself and to temper the rising panic enough to avoid another outburst like the one earlier on. Her neighbours would surely call the police this time; no shy smile and proffering apologies would appease them, would work to convince them to leave the mad, demented policewoman alone, by herself in her damaged apartment. To leave her alone with her damaged mind.

She shakes her head, almost in denial at herself and her reactions. A tiny glimmer of strength. No. This is _not_ going to happen.

Castle.

She pushes her fingertip against the screen, dragging it slowly across the lock screen photograph of her, Castle and the boys at Espo's 'birthday take-out meal' in the break room a few months before, until it works; it's unlocked, and she's met with the picture of her mother and father on the Home Screen. She sinks down once again, her feet sticky with unnoticed blood, sliding from beneath her as she rests back against the brick of her bedroom wall.

Her trembling fingers automatically work to reach her 'Recents' call list as the tears cloud her vision once again, and with one press it's calling, waiting for the negative space to disappear once again and for the click of the connect tone to sound.

He picks up almost instantly.

"Beckett? You ok?"

She tries to speak, but the words are swallowed by the choking sobs that suddenly emerge despite her attempts to keep them grounded, to keep them pressed down in her body, somewhere near her toes where they belong.

"Kate?"

She hears rustling as she tries to force the words out, hears him rising from his desk chair as he hurriedly pulls on his coat over his night clothes. "Kate, come on, speak to me."

A rattle, and then a click; of him picking up his keys, leaving his own apartment and instinctively making his way over to hers without even knowing the reason why she needs him. How he knows she'll be there she doesn't know, but she's confident that's what he's doing. Coming to her rescue, like a night in shining armour, just like he always does… She's weak, too weak to fight the anger that sits in her stomach, all tangled up with fear. The resentment, almost, that she has to reach out to another person like this, just to save her from herself. Even when that other person is someone as close and as understanding as Castle.

"Beckett!" His voice is strained now; attempting to remain calm, but failing, and it shocks her out of the movie reel of moments that are flooding through her mind, unbidden and unwarranted.

The timbre of her voice is low; quiet, and exhausted. "Give me a reason, Castle."

"A reason for what?" He exhales audibly; loudly, his relief at her reply palpable despite its inference.

His words are quick, and breathless, and the 'shuck-shuck-shuck' noise of his phone rubbing against his cheek tells her that he's jogging. She can say this now, because he's on his way; to be here, to keep her safe. She can be honest. ' _Be brave, Kate.'_

He repeats himself. "A reason for what, Kate?"

"A reason for not ending this." She swallows, having to force the words out, feeling how they almost taste bitter on her tongue. Or is that blood, from where she's biting her lip so hard that the pain has almost disappeared? She doesn't know.

There is a pause. "Ending what?"

And then she can't speak again, can't answer his questions as the tears continue to run down her cheeks. She opens her mouth to try but he cuts her off unintentionally, giving her his own version of excuses and reasoning.

"Ending the way you're feeling? It's natural, Beckett – you were shot, and you shouldn't be on this case. Chasing a sniper taking down innocent New Yorkers for no apparent reason isn't the ideal thing for you to be working on, especially given your startle response earlier… Don't worry, I'll talk to the boys when we get to the Precinct and we'll see what we can –"

"No, Castle." She finds her voice again, desperate to make him understand without actually saying the words, without verbalising the most fearful thing her mind has produced through all of this. She takes another shaky, stilted breath, realising that for once she can't rely on his intuition. She spells it out. "Give me a reason for not ending… me."

There is another pause, as he struggles to find his words this time. He clears his throat, and all of a sudden he's lost the chirpy edge that always dances around his voice, giving it a sing-song like, impish quality. She hears the punching, the four clicks of him entering the code at the main door to her building. "Kate, I'm nearly there. Just hang on." He swallows again, his tone quiet, and almost pleading, of sorts. Asking of her. Begging.

"Just… hang on hon."

She ends the call and glances once more at the time, jumping as the sliding of a key in the lock has her reaching instinctively, instantly for her gun.

4.48am.

Castle pokes his head around the door; eyes wide with confusion and concern, taking care to move as slowly and as easily as possible. His gaze searches for her, whispering her name questioningly as he scans the room; taking in the broken glass, the torn apart book and damaged blinds before finding her, crouched on the floor next to her nightstand, barely illuminated by the lowest setting of the lamp. His thinking to move carefully was right on the money; she instantly brings to mind a frightened animal, curled in the corner, her normally sparkling eyes dulled with fear and pain, and red raw from crying.

He sets his keys down on the table by the door and shucks off his jacket, clad only in chequered pyjama pants and the male sizing of the grey NYPD t shirt Kate was wearing. He smiles as she straightens a little, somehow comforted by the fact that their clothing choices that evening were almost identical. It was fitting, somehow. He sizes up the situation in his head as he walks slowly over to her, his feet crunching the broken glass into her solid wood flooring, brushing the space in front of her clean with his hands before kneeling down.

"Hey…" His voice is deliberately quiet; soft, soothing, in just the same way as he used to talk to Alexis when she was younger, when she'd come scurrying in to his room after a nightmare or when she thought there were zombies under her bed. He reaches up and brushes her hair back a little, tucking it behind her ear, and she blinks at him; once, twice, and then the water in her eyes wells up again as her chin crinkles. He notices the blood running down her arm and pulls a tissue out of his pocket, pressing it against the pool that's settled on her skin and already started to darken and harden.

His large, gentle hands splay out wide on her knees; she's crouching, her legs tight to her chest as she clings on to her shin bones, almost as if she's trying to curl inside herself. She looks up at him, through her mass of wavy, untamed hair and instantly her breathing hitches, the tears falling again as her head drops down, coming to a stop as her forehead presses down onto his hands. He slides them out, letting her down gently, before leaning forward and setting his arms on her shoulders, pulling her in to him. His long limbs allow him to wrap around her tiny form easily, and she sinks forward a little as his head rests in the crook of her neck.

"Shh… Let it out, that's it. Good girl."

She speaks; words muffled not only by her tears, but by the strong presence of his body, wound protectively around hers. "I'm no good, Castle."

His eyes close with a relieved smile. "Yes you are. And you know why? Because you held on. Just like I asked you to."

 _ **N.B: Before somebody points it out in a review, I highly doubt Castle could get to Beckett's apartment as quickly as I've had him get there in this chapter, knowing New York as I do. But I'm calling the artistic license card, because I knew how I wanted their conversation to go and what timeline it would fit. So please excuse that… Onwards and upwards!**_


	3. Chapter 3

He sighs against her neck, rubbing in slow circles at her shoulders as her body shakes in his arms. Part trembling, part crying; it's almost as painful for him to witness as it is for her to feel, and he has no clue what to do to fix it. To fix her. His strong, beautiful, tough Beckett; his real life Nikki Heat, the one who continually lays her own life down and is a constant, unrelenting victor for the truth in other people's. He shushes her for a few more minutes, just holding her, and as her sobbing begins to subside he tries his reflex reaction: humour.

"So, did you intentionally dress like me for our meeting this evening, or is it just a happy coincidence?"

He pauses, scrunching his eyes a little in trepidation, unsure of how she's going to react, and he exhales in relief as she snorts, a little chuckle that makes his body rattle with how forced and unconnected to her emotional state it sounds.

"Well, Detective Beckett. A snort. And I always thought you were a lady…"

Her hand snakes up and bats him lightly on his chest; a warning, asking him not to press her too hard.

His hand resumes its small, soothing circles on her bare skin, just under where the sleeve of her t shirt ends. "Come on… Now you've finished snivelling, head up. Talk to me."

She catches another rising sob in her throat; it emerges more of a croak, and he feels her tense against it in his arms as she shakes her head, nestling in to him a little closer. "I'm happy here. Safer."

"I know you are, but remember I've got a good few years on you, and my knees are killing me…"

No response this time.

"Beckett?" He pauses, reconsidering; using her surname, her nickname, sounds too harsh. She needs comfort, connection, support; not a telling off. "... Kate, come on." He lifts her head by placing one fingertip underneath her chin, guiding her reluctant gaze upwards to meet his. "Ok, if you don't want to talk yet, will you at least let me see to this?" His eyes flick to her arm and then down to her feet, and she crinkles her forehead in confusion.

"Why my feet?" She sounds dazed; shell shocked, and numb, almost. Her body has relaxed somewhat, since he'd got there, and he was pleased to see she wasn't trembling quite so much now. It reinforced in his mind that he'd done the right thing by coming straight over; it was an instinctive reaction, one he didn't really pause to think about, and it was only in his haste to climb her stairs that he'd thought perhaps she didn't even want him there, that perhaps she just wanted to talk to him over the phone... She was usually so headstrong, so steadfast that even the tiniest sign of weakness was hidden under her steel thick armour as quickly as it appeared, but her tone and her words had seemed different somehow. More honest, and urgent. He could sense her embarrassment as soon as he walked in the door, but despite wishing he could conjure up the words to make it all magically better for her, he knew that just being there with her was enough, for now. He was content with that.

Castle slides himself back, releasing his legs and taking her left foot in his hand. "Hon, they're all cut up."

She looks confused again, closing her eyes tight and shaking her head a little. "What? No, it's just this – my arm caught the glass as I... got my gun… when I crawled over here." She waves her arm at him and winces, her eyes welling up again. He lifts her leg a little, just enough for her to see the scratches and the little shards of glass embedded in the soles of her feet. "Look, Kate."

She gazes down. "Shit."

He sets her foot on the floor and his hands come back to their previous place on her shoulders. "It's ok, it's nothing to worry about – it just needs cleaning up a bit, and a plaster or two." He checks around her. "Where _is_ your gun?"

Her palm flattens to the side of her lower abdomen, and she indicates; he flinches in response. "Here."

Castle's eyes widen. Surely she shouldn't have it in her waistband… That goes against even basic gun training. And she knows it. He clears his throat.

"Can I take it?"

"No." Her reply is low, but instant; firm.

He looks at her, trying to glean even the smallest idea as to the thoughts running through her head. Her eyes are closed most of the time, but when they open they're flickering from side to side like a hostile cat, looking for prey to pounce on, but there's no anger or a hint of anything predatory hidden behind her irises. Just fear, plain and simple, so much so that he can almost taste it. She's not the hunter; she's the hunted.

He brushes her hair back again, where it's fallen over her face. A repetitive, instinctive movement. "Ok then, let's sort out these feet. Can I take a look?"

She nods distractedly and he looks around as he gets to his feet, thinking out loud. "First aid kit… first aid kit... Kitchen?" She shakes her head this time, beckoning with her head to the bathroom. "Alright then. Just stay here, 'k?"

She hears him rifling through her bathroom cupboard, then just as breathing quickens, as her mind begins to wander again he's back, armed with her battered looking first aid tin, bringing with him an air of comfort, of calm. Of strength. _'How does he do that?', s_ he thinks, distractedly.

"This is so. cool. So vintage." He waggles the tin at her, glancing inside to check its contents, and she finally smiles a little.

"So metrosexual."

He frowns a little, jokingly. "Hey. Just because I appreciate things, doesn't make me a fop. Now come here – up on the bed, good girl." He sets the tin down and proffers her his hands, taking most of her considerably small weight as he guides her up slowly to her feet. "Ok, just stand on your tiptoes and swivel over here." He indicates to the bed and catches her wincing expression. "What's up, your arm? Did I hurt you?"

Her head shakes, and she doubles over a little. "No, here." Her palm comes to her abdomen again, where her gun is tucked away beneath the cotton.

He swallows loudly, his fear clear. "Kate, please let me move your gun."

She looks up at him, blinking slowly, debating his question in her mind. Her gun is her protection – if she gives it up, she's unarmed. A free moving target, with no way to defend herself. It's almost become like an extension of her body… her safety. Her backup, of sorts. But she's giving it up to _her_ real backup, Castle… so that's ok. Isn't it? _'Come on, Kate. Stop being an idiot.'_ She shakes her head again, one last attempt to clear her confused trail of thought, and finally nods. He lifts her t shirt a little and pulls the gun away, tracing his thumb over the safety automatically as he hears the snap of her waistband fitting back to her body, before setting it down gently on the nightstand.

He exhales, turning back to her and lifting her shirt once again. There's a perfect imprint of the side of her gun marked into her skin; red, angry lines, mapping out its image. He instinctively traces it with first his fingers, then his palm and his thumb, a slow, sweeping movement that leaves him cupping her side. "Does that hurt?"

She shakes her head, and he's satisfied. Holding out his hands he guides her backwards, and her body falls back on to the bed with a 'thump'. "You might have a bruise there, come morning. Since when have you kept your gun in your pants? Isn't that a bit… dangerous?"

Her eyes close, almost shamefully, and she takes a deep, steadying breath. "I needed it close."

"Well, don't worry, I'm here to save you from the zombies now. Zombie Apocalypse Survival Camp alumni here, right in front of you, remember?" He flicks his eyes up to hers as he busies himself with the tissue he'd placed earlier over her arm, looking for any trace of a smile; there isn't one. Her eyes are closed again, and her voice is small; afraid.

"It's not zombies that are the problem here, Castle. It's me."


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, I can handle you _and_ zombies put together, so you're all good." He leans down, guiding her feet up on to the bed as she lets him patch her up: a clean, crisp bandage to stem the bleeding from her arm, and a multitude of antiseptic wipes and plasters for the nicks on her feet. She's like a small child; malleable and willing, her limbs almost slack in his arms as she watches him tend to her, watches him bandage her. His hand comes out in request and she puts whatever he's asking for in it; instantly, instinctively.

The silence between them as he works is comfortable; they've never had to force conversation, even in the past, when she's been so mad at him she could hardly see straight. But her breathing is still ragged, so much so that it's unmistakeable; short, sharp intakes of breath, almost as if she's too afraid to breathe normally in case the wave comes crashing over her again. He's thinking of how to best broach the subject when she breaks the quiet herself with a small, meek statement.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

His gaze lifts from her feet to meet hers. "I know." Another pause, as his head drops back down again. "It doesn't matter." He peels the backing from the final plaster, pressing it into place gently before swiping his hand affectionately over her heel. "There, all done. Let me just put this back, and I'll make us both a drink."

She gets to her feet as he does, gingerly stepping over to the sofa as she watches him disappear into the bathroom again, calling after him. "It does matter, Castle."

His head pops back around the door. "No, it doesn't. I get it Kate, honestly – I understand. This case is just…" He shakes his head. "… It's just far too close. You're bound to be affected by it." He disappears again, and she hears him clattering in the cupboard before coming out and making his way straight to the kitchen. He's quieter this time, moving methodically around her cupboards and shelves until he finds what he needs to make coffee; listening, and giving her time to talk.

"Doesn't make it right though. You've been so supportive, and I just… push away. It's a reflex, and not just from this. Since Mom." She glances up at the picture of her parents on their wedding day that sits on the edge of a bookshelf, running her eyes over her Mother's still-familiar features. "I try and burn her into my brain, you know? So I won't forget her. I've given up trying to solve the case; that will come in its own time – or not, who knows. But at times like these…" Her voice trails off as he passes her a mug, placing her hands around it in a cupping gesture before settling down next to her with his own.

His voice is quiet now. "You know, I sometimes forget that you live with this every day."

She smiles wryly. "I don't. I wish she was here. To help me through this, to give me some reasoning, something to stop all this twisting and turning in my own head. It's selfish, I know, but I just…"

He finishes her sentence, as hers trails off into nothing. "… want your Mom?" She nods, the tears glistening in her eyes again, and his hand settles over hers lightly. "It's natural, Kate. Hell, I still ask my Mother for advice about things nearly every day… I can't imagine what mine or Alexis's life would be like if she weren't around. But you're strong, Kate, and you _can_ do this. With or without your Mom."

"She's around, you know." He tilts his head inquisitively, his eyes narrowing a little in confusion, but she continues. "Sometimes I smell her perfume, or sense someone behind me when I'm at my desk, filing reports late into the night. Sometimes that warm feeling behind me is you, bringing me coffee… but more often than not there's no one there when I spin my chair around to check. Does that sound odd?"

He shakes his head again, more vigorously this time, as he takes a sip of his drink. "You're asking the person who believes in mediums and zombies here, remember? I don't think it's odd at all, I think it's true – and even if it isn't, who cares? If it makes you feel closer to your Mom, then keep it. Hold on to it." He swallows, toying with the difference between the words he wants to say versus what she needs to hear. "Make it your strength."

Her head bows, the tears escaping and running silently down her cheeks. "The zombie analogy was quite apt, you know. It feels like there's zombies in my head sometimes. I hear things, I see things…

"Is that why…?" He gestures to the dustpan full of broken glass he'd swept up earlier, and she nods.

"I thought that something – or someone – was there, so I kicked out. At the wrong thing, clearly, but… it was instinct. Kick ass instinct…" A smile breaks out of the thin, straight line of her mouth briefly, and he returns it.

"I know."

"All the stuff I've seen, all the stuff I've dealt with, I've never had anything like this happen. I've never been so…"

"… broken?" He volunteers tentatively, and she nods again. "Kate, you're not broken." His voice is firm, and her eyes flick to his; red, and pained.

"I am, Castle. Damaged goods. What else explains all this? I don't get weepy over a couple of scars. I'm not that kind of person." Her voice is barely a whisper, and he takes her hand again, willing her to believe.

"No. Kate, listen to me. You're the most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I've ever met, but you are _not_ damaged. You can get through this, I promise you – and you will get over it. It won't go away but on the other side of it, it won't seem half as fucking scary or as unpredictable as it does now… It'll never leave you, but it won't always be like this. I promise."

She wipes at her eyes angrily, brushing away the tears. She seems annoyed at the evidence of her weakness, even to someone as trusting and believing in her as Castle. Her eyes close tight as her head bows once more, and she lets out a surprised chuckle as she stares into her cup, finally seeing the smiley face he's crafted within the foam of her coffee. She sniffs. "Castle, I'm not a five year old. A smiley face?"

He grins. "Five year olds wouldn't be drinking coffee. I still make Alexis smiley blueberry pancakes when she's upset, so I thought it might help – I maintain that you're never too old to be a big kid." He indicates to her mouth, now curved upwards into a small hint of a smile. "Especially not when it makes you smile like that." He pauses, testing the waters in his mind before his head beckons to the scattered pages beneath the window. "So, you didn't like the book you tried to read? Not one of mine, I hope…" He smiles at her hopefully, gauging her response, and she smiles back - albeit shakily.

"It's a play I auditioned for in college. I loved it; always have. It stuck with me. It was running through my head, and then…" Her voice stops in her throat, the tightening starting again as her eyes widen a little.

He reaches forward and picks up the pale yellow post it, bringing it back to his eye line and tracing her handwriting with his index finger. "This is what you auditioned with?"

She nods, and he casts his eyes down to read it.

 _ **N.B: Sorry for the delay in this update; real life and job responsibilities got in the way unfortunately. I also wanted to say thank you for all the reads, reviews and follows you guys have given this little story, I really appreciate you all taking the time to read it. There's a few lines from Castle dotted here and there; brownie points for noticing them, and I hope you won't mind they're sometimes slightly out of timeline/context. Thank you :)**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**He reaches forward and picks up the pale yellow post it, bringing it back to his eye line and tracing her handwriting with his index finger. "This is what you auditioned with?"**_

 _ **She nods, and he casts his eyes down to read it.**_

' _At 4.48, when sanity visits, for one hour and twelve minutes I am in my right mind. When it has passed I shall be gone again, a fragmented puppet, a grotesque fool._

 _Now I am here I can see myself but when I am charmed by vile delusions of happiness, the foul magic of this engine of sorcery, I cannot touch my essential self._

 _Why do you believe me then and now?_

 _Remember the light and believe the light. Nothing matters more._

 _Still black water_

 _as deep as forever_

 _as cold as the sky_

 _as still as my heart when your voice is gone_

 _I shall freeze in hell_

 _of course I love you_

 _you saved my life_

 _It is myself I have never met, whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind.'_

He takes a deep breath, curling his toes underneath his knees as he shifts in his seat. "Heavy reading… Well it seems like our clothing isn't the only thing in sync tonight; I did this in college too, only we did a male version. Weird, huh?"

Her curiosity is piqued, and she tilts her head. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Castle, quit yanking my chain."

He shakes his head vigorously from side to side. "Huh uh – honestly. Not all of it made sense, but I loved the literal nature of her language and her sparse sentence structure so much, we tailored it to fit somehow. We rigged up this thing; staging blocks, all piled high and haphazardly, and I crouched under a red sheet until the last line was said and then bam – I let myself drop through the gap we'd left in the middle, so it looked like someone committing suicide. Quite effective, actually, though my tiny little freshman muscles didn't take too kindly to it at the time…" He rubbed at his biceps, lost in the memory for a moment, until the sound of Kate's uneven, tearful breathing snaps him back to himself.

He looks at her, taking in her pale, drawn face and tearstained features. How had she ended up like this, without him even realising? He'd always considered himself attentive where Beckett was concerned; over attentive, sometimes, so much so that she'd be clamouring for breathing space if she had any idea just how closely he watched her, and how much of her personality he knew. He crafted most of it into Nikki, but there were some things they'd shared that he couldn't quite bring himself to make a part of her fictional world; they were too precious, too personal, and he valued them too highly to share them. To him she was more than a muse, more than someone he was merely intrigued by; she was his friend, first and foremost, and his 'partner'. Partners, even civilian ones, were supposed to be the first that noticed - he should have stepped in, should have made her talk before it all built up so much and into something so impossible that she had no idea how to get through it. He should have done something.

He reaches out and takes her cup from her before wrapping his arms around her again, feeling her body sink against just for a second before pushing out at his chest with her balled fists; a weak, feeble attempt at proving her strength. It fails, and she sinks further in to him as he holds her close, just as he'd done before, patiently waiting until she's ready to talk.

As he feels her body relax against him, he takes a breath. "Did you mean what you said to me earlier, on the phone?"

She pulls away a little, brushing her hair back off her face and gratefully taking the tissue he proffers. "What?"

"You said you needed a reason not to end… you. Does that mean what I think it means?"

Her head drops instantly; shamefully. "Castle, please –" but he cuts her off, holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"I'm not pushing you, Kate... I'm just trying to understand, that's all."

She sighs heavily, and as her head lifts and he sees the pain etched in her eyes, the knot of regret tightens in his stomach. She replies slowly, the words clearly hard to verbalise.

"I just... I – I..." Her speech stumbles, tripping her up, caught between finding a coherent way to express the myriad of feelings and the fear that once they're in the open, they somehow become more real.

Her hesitant response is answer enough for him. He tries another way. "Ok – let's not even go there. Let's use a euphemism."

And then, unexpectedly, her fire is back. "A euphemism? Castle, I am _not_ a child." His hand finds hers again, holding her fingers tightly as she tries to shake him off.

"I'm not calling you a child, Kate, I'm not stupid. It's difficult to talk about, I get that. But we have to do something." The tears spring to his eyes this time as he looks away, his fingers squeezing tighter around hers in frustration. "I'm not going to stand by and watch you crumble, right in front of my eyes. I just can't. I _won't_."

She pauses, surprised at his emotion. "Ok, ok… a euphemism. What's the magic metaphor, writer-boy?"

He tilts his head at her, throwing her his look that's normally reserved for Ryan and Esposito; the one that drips with veritable sarcasm. "I was going to say – before you got all antsy – that all the PTSD stuff is like zombies."

"Zombies?!" Her tone is part incredulous, part amused. "You're seriously comparing me to zombies?"

"Not you, per se. The feelings, the fear – it's like when a child is scared of zombies. It's almost as if it's the fear of the unknown that feeds it; as if the mythology and ethereal stories make it bigger than what it actually is."

She looks confused. "I'm not with you."

"Alexis was scared of zombies and creatures that supposedly lived under her bed until she was old enough to watch her first zombie movie. Ok, she was a little too young to be watching things like that in retrospect, but you live and learn." He shrugs, a smile on his face. "Watching the movie and seeing how ridiculous and fictionalised it was… it was enough to make her see that they were just imagery, just figments of people's imagination. And the same goes for the stuff you're struggling with. It's all bound up in the shooting, and your fear of weakness. But the guy that shot you isn't coming after you, Kate. It's done."

"For now."

"No, not for now. It's done until…" He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "… until we get another lead. It's dormant, and all those shadowy figures and the things you're seeing are just your mind playing tricks. The bastard who shot you isn't bigger than you, Kate. He's just a zombie that your mind has produced, something that seems bigger than he actually is; a guy, with a gun. A hunk of steel. I'm not invalidating what you're feeling, don't get me wrong – but I just want you to see that fear, no matter where it comes from, isn't a weakness. It doesn't alter who you are, or what you stand for, or how… utterly amazing you are. You're still you. And we'll get you back there one day. I promise. "

They sit quietly, side by side, her eyes flicking from side to side until she closes them again and reaches for his hand, breaking the silence. "I've been seeing someone."

His eyes are back on her in an instant. "A guy?"

She glares at him, an element of the 'old' self breaking through in the form of a trademark Beckett roll of the eyes. "No, Castle... A therapist."

He pauses again. "I didn't know you were seeing a therapist."

"I didn't want to make any excuses. I just want to put in the time and do the work. I want… I _need_ to get to a place where I can finally accept everything that happened that day. Everything. But I'm a hell of a way off…"

He sighs lightly. "You might feel like that now, but Kate… it's going to take time. You've been through something… indescribable. Something that would have crushed a lot of people. But you're still here; still standing, still full of attitude, and still fighting for the good guys. You're back on your feet, and you're back at work… you need to give yourself some credit. And anyway, sometimes you have to see the darkness, and to face it, to appreciate the true nature – and the extent – of what it is you need to save yourself from."

She fidgets, twisting her mother's ring around on the loop of chain circling her neck. "Would you do something for me?"

His eyebrows raise, waiting for her to finish. "Hmm?" She takes a breath.

"I think I need to see Dr. Burke tomorrow."

His reply is sotto voce, but gentle. Encouraging. "I think that's a good idea."

"Would you come with me?"

He pauses hesitantly, and she rushes to explain. "Not in there – just come _with_ me. You're someone I trust, Castle, and I know it's a pain in the ass having to wait around for 45 minutes, but if I'm going to talk to him about all of this –" she gestures around the room. "- then it'd be easier if I knew there was someone I trusted on the other side of the –"

He cuts her off. "Kate – yes. I'll come to every appointment with you, if that's what makes you feel safe. And you know what?"

Her eyebrows raise questioningly, waiting for him to finish. "What."

"I couldn't be prouder of you."

She looks down, feeling her eyes fill up with tears again. "What, proud of someone who reads crap, depressing plays and feels frightened enough to resort to ridiculous things, just to get out of her own head? I think not."

He squeezes her fingers. "I mean it. I'm proud of you, Kate. Always."

Her reply comes out as more of a whisper. "Thanks, Castle."

They sit in silence for a minute, the only sound coming from the scraping of Castle's index finger against the post it as he traces her handwriting again. "A lot of this links to us, you know."

Her eyes flick upwards. "Huh?"

"These lines. _"I shall freeze in hell…"_ That storage container sure felt like hell, not quite as hot as I'd imagined though." He hears her snort a little beside him. "And the saving your life bit… Just so you know, I'm keeping a healthy score of that particular aspect of our partnership. You owe me for a lot, Detective Beckett. You wouldn't even be here without me…"

Her brow crinkles as she looks at him, processing the truth behind the humour of his words. He's right; so many times, and in so many ways, the man she thought most likely to piss her off for all eternity was actually the one who'd put himself in danger to save her ass, more times than she could count. It worked both ways, of course… but even though she'd never let him know it, his probably did outnumber hers, and even when everything felt so dark and desperate, she was acutely grateful for every single occasion. Especially tonight.

To his surprise, she blinks back fresh tears, her face at odds with her flippant response. "Whatever, Castle." He doesn't acknowledge it, just hands her another tissue. "Lanie has always joked that I'll end up with an ulcer, if I keep holding things in like this. Maybe she's right..."

"Don't tell her that though... She'll get a big head." He replies, a cheeky glint in his eye, and she sighs again.

"How do you do that, Castle?"

"Do what?"

"Get me to talk, like this? Is it some kind of secret writer power I have no idea about?"

He replies dryly. "Yes, Beckett. I'm a comic book hero… I come complete with costumes, everything." He sighs a little, as his eyes sweep over the back of the sofa. "Come on, you're getting too complimentary; a sure sign that we both need some sleep. Do you have a blanket or something I can use?"

Her hands come up to her face in a childlike gesture, balling up her fists and rubbing hard against her eye sockets. "A blanket?"

"For the couch. I'm not leaving you, Kate – this isn't up for discussion."

 ** _N.B: I'm not so sure about this chapter. It took a lot of rejigging and editing before I was even vaguely happy with it, but I hope it comes across as I intended. We're coming to the end of it now, so you won't be stuck with this for much longer I promise! Thank you again to all those who have taken the time to read and review; it's appreciated more than I can say._**


	6. Chapter 6 - fin

She pauses for a second, weighing his statement up in her mind. He is her friend, and he values her so highly she can see it, sense it, almost taste it; whatever he's feeling in his heart is projected right out from behind his eyes, as clear as daylight. There's no uncertainty with Castle. What you see it what you get, be it childlike innocence, naughty innuendo or his belief in mob hit theorising… or care. Affection, and protection in spades. For whatever reason, he makes her feel calm, and even just his presence shushes the whirling and static in her brain, but she doesn't want to appear weak or feeble, or like an idiotic woman… _'Kate, seriously. Quit it.'_ She opens her mouth to speak, finally, and her voice is quiet again.

"Thank you."

He exhales, having been mentally preparing himself for a fight something like the night he'd stayed over when that psychopath Dunn was gunning for her… or was out to blow her up, more like. He looks at her as her head bows and her hand stretches out towards him, palm up, and his eyes crinkle in a sweet expression of confusion. His hand meets hers, and she pulls him towards the bedroom as he starts to protest.

"Woah, Kate, I wasn't trying to –"

She turns on her heel. "Castle, shut up. My couch is deathly uncomfortable – I've slept on it before when my Dad has stayed over, and it's not a nice experience. You look as tired as I feel, and there's no sense us both not trying to sleep as well as we can for the few hours we've got left. Just… stay in here with me, ok?"

He nods reluctantly, then grins as he sees as her mouth slip into a hint of a smile. "But no feet anywhere near me, got it?"

"Understood."

As she settles under the covers beside him, he composes a quick text and sends it to the family group list, so his mother and Alexis don't panic when they wake and find him gone.

' _Hey guys, it's 6am – I'm with Beckett. We caught a case in the early hours, didn't want you to worry. See you later. R/D xx'_

The rustling and wriggling stops as she peers over his shoulder. "R/D?"

"Rick/Dad. My mother started it, when we sorted out this group list for family notices, emergencies etc. She couldn't quite grasp that we could see who was the author of any message by its contact, so she started everything with 'Rick/Alexis' and ended it with 'Mom/Grams'. We found it funny, so it… kinda caught on. It's stupid, I know, but that's us…"

She smiles. "No, it's not stupid. It kind of sums up who you all are, and _how_ you all are with each other. Quirks, playing laser tag, mandatory ice cream for breakfast… all just big kids really. It's sweet." She yawns, unable to help herself. "Sorry, Castle. I'm just so, so tired."

"I know. But your zombie saviour is here, remember… so get some rest. We've got a few hours before we have to be at the precinct."

Her eyes widen a little. "Er, Castle - you're not exactly set to face people, you know. Unless you fancy parading around for the day in your pyjamas…?"

"I've thought of that, thank you - I'll ask Espo to bring me a change of clothes in."

"How are you going to do that? If you tell them, Castle, I swear to god –"

His hand comes up to stop her protesting and her fear, before it even really begins. "No, I don't mean tell them I've been here… We had enough of that before, remember?" His voice takes on a sing-song, mocking tone. " _Pancakes, how domestic, I see wine, Beckett in her jammies…_ Urgh." He shivers. "I'll just fake a one night stand or a sleepover or something."

She rolls her eyes. "Charming."

"You like the alternative?!"

"Fine, do what you like. I'm too tired to argue, just… don't tell them, ok?"

"You have my word, Detective." He holds one hand up to his chest, saluting with the other like a boy scout.

There's a moment of silence between them before her arm comes across, her index finger pointing out, and she jabs him lightly in the side. "Castle?"

"Huh?" He turns to face her.

"You never were a boy scout, remember?"

A grin spreads across his face. "Oh yeah, I let that one slip early on didn't I. Regardless – you have my word. Ok? Now sleep."

She stares at the ceiling, listening to his breathing growing slower and softer beside her. For the first time in days she feels calmer, safer; not quite like there is light at the end of the tunnel, but something close to it. Feeling protected counts for a lot, and despite Castle's annoying personality quirks, there has never been any doubt since they met that she feels safe with him, and protected. Somebody who was so embedded into her brain, someone whose words she devoured for years before she even had any idea who he really was had turned out to be far more influential in her life than even she could have realised... She turns her head a little, to look at him; his too-long-for-a-man eyelashes are curled against the top of his cheeks, his mouth has opened just a little and his breath is soft. Calming. She listens to his gentle rhythm, losing herself in the repetitive inhalations and exhalations as she tries to match them, trying to steady her own breathing enough to relax a little, to slow down her mind. How long have they got, before they have to get up? She flicks her eyes to the bedside table, and only then realises that she hasn't looked at the clock once since he'd got there. Her head turns to look properly at the white-bright numbers a final time, before shifting her foot over in the bed to rest flush against Castle's shin bone and closing her eyes.

6.03am.

She'd made it.


	7. Epilogue

_**N.B: A few of you lovely reviewers have asked for an epilogue, and although I was happy with where I'd originally ended the story, your suggestions planted something in my brain so... here it is. Hopefully you'll all like it. Thank you again for taking the time to read and review - it means more than I can say. Thanks for sticking with my little story, and for all your support. Enjoy!**  
_

 **Epilogue :  
**

Kate makes her way out of the building, stepping down the stone steps and raising a gloved hand to shield her eyes, squinting in the bright, autumn sunlight as she scans the crowds of people bustling up and down the street in front of her. Her head flicks from side to side until she spots him on a bench a little way down the street; legs crossed at the ankles, two cups of coffee by his side and his nose buried deep in a book. She can just about make out the peculiar font on the book jacket: 'Sweetheart', by Chelsea Cain. But it looks suspiciously large, not at all like the copy they've both got on their respective bookshelves at home… _'Hmm...'_ , she thinks. _'I smell a rat.'_ With another quick glance to either side of her, just to make sure her path is clear, she makes her way over to him.

"Hey there."

He looks up distractedly in the general direction of her voice, but when his eyes settle on her a grin spreads across his face, instantly bringing a sparkle to his eyes. "Hey yourself."

She settles herself beside him, taking the coffee he's proffering and ducking her head down to place a quick, light kiss on his cheek. "Whatcha reading?"

He flips the book closed, straightening the jacket. "Just an old favourite."

"How old?" She raises her eyebrows, an amused smile skittering on her lips.

His face crinkles; an attempt at a lie, even though the expression on her face shows she's got him down. Protesting is futile; he's busted. "Er… Just an old Chelsea Cain. Felt like re-reading it."

The eyebrows raise further. "Castle…" Her hand swipes the book out of his before he has time to register what she's doing, and she pulls the jacket away from the cover to reveal a book markedly different in tone to the cover he'd swapped it for in an attempt to conceal it. _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows._ "Really, Castle?"

"Ok, ok, ok. Alexis texted me this morning and told me she's started re-reading the final book again, and somehow… it ended up in a challenge. I'm not about to let the pint-sized Princess Leia beat me at the very thing I'm best at... Even if it is a children's book. Speed reader my ass… I'm the only speed reader in this family."

She hands him the book back with a wry smile and squishes her body a little closer to his, finding his hand with her own and entwining their fingers. "You are a child, you know that? Give you a challenge – any challenge – and you fight to the death to prove you're the quickest, fastest, strongest whatever."

"I thought you liked my competitive nature…"

"No, the fact you can't resist touching things is the part I like the most…" His eyes widen a little, part shock at her brazen comment and part amusement, and she lets out a giggle. "There. Now you're lost for words. Job done."

He makes a face at her, before squeezing at her fingers a little. "Speaking of words…" His head nudges in the direction of the building she'd just stepped out of. "How did it go?"

She sighs, before taking a sip of her coffee. "Good, actually. You'll be pleased to know there'll be no more freezing your ass off for an hour, waiting for me each week; Dr Burke says I'm done."

His head tilts a little in surprise. "Done?"

"Yep. I'm cured."

"Kate, how many times have I got to tell you - it's not about curing –"

She interrupts him with a smile. "Castle, I was kidding. He said that he thinks we've done enough… That I've worked through enough. The panic attacks are long gone, and I've been sleeping better for ages. I mean, I can go back if I want, or call him anytime, but he seems to think that I'm ready to… go it alone, so to speak."

"And you're ok with that?"

"Am I ok with it? Castle, these therapy appointments have been going on forever, _and_ costing us a fortune. Of course I'm ok with it."

"It's not about money, Kate, or time. It takes as long as it takes."

"…Castle, after all these years, you still haven't learned when I'm joking?" A smile spreads across both of their faces as Castle's mobile buzzes in his coat pocket. He reaches for it and swipes at the notification, letting out an affronted huff as he reads the message out loud.

"' _Chapter twelve, done and dusted... How about you? You do know you're going to lose, right? A kiss-kiss'_ … That girl is getting cheekier and cheekier with age. I think it's your influence, personally…" His fingers dance over the screen, replying quickly.

' _L-O-S-E-R is not in my vocabulary, thank you… Unless it's directed at you. The game is still afoot xxx'_

Kate presses her hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her laughter. "Nothing to do with me, Castle – she's learned from the best. You act like a twelve year old on a sugar rush most of the time, and apples don't fall too far from the tree you know…"

"Yes, I'm a child – a fact you remind me of at least eight million times a day. Anyway, enough of that – are you sure you're fine with no more appointments? I mean, you've been seeing him for so long... It's a pretty big crutch to let go of, isn't it? I just want to make sure you're ok with it."

She exhales, considering his question. It has been a long time; eleven months, to be exact. At first twice weekly, and then weekly as she worked through everything; the 'zombies', as they'd affectionately termed her more extreme PTSD reactions, the Captain giving his life up to keep her safe coupled with the whole Bracken scenario… It was all too much to think of, in one go; and still, only part of it. But she felt calmer now; safer, and far more able to deal with everything as it came up, as opposed to bottling it all up… Her sessions with Dr Burke hadn't solely focused on the shooting; she'd ended up sharing far more with him than she'd intended, and working through far more than she'd ever realised she needed to. In her eyes, it was equal parts Castle's 'tough love' and Dr Burke's wisdom and insight that had helped her to understand and implement the things she really needed to do to get through it all… although Castle's love wasn't entirely tough. Faced with the possibility of losing him completely she'd run at first, too stubborn to admit or commit, but eventually she'd found her way back to him, despite almost dying in the process. But it was so worth it. They'd been through so much, and yet every single day he was by her side, unfailing in his support and his strength which, by proxy, gave her all the strength she could have needed and more. Strength she didn't even _realise_ she needed. She'd always been so self-sufficient that it was a big step for her to admit that sometimes she needed someone to fight in her corner with her; but she'd been self aware enough by that point to backtrack, and admit she was wrong. And since then, things had only got better… And she was confident that they would continue to do so.

"Kate?" His voice calling her name brings her out of her own thoughts, and she realises she's squeezing his hand tightly. "You ok?"

She shakes her head a little, a physical attempt to clear her mind, and turns to him with a smile on her face. "I'm fine, Castle. Honestly. It's a good thing it's done. And he's always there if I need him… Just like you are."

And then he smiles; that wry, affectionate, sweet smile that makes his eyes crinkle – the one that makes her stomach flip, every single time she sees it. "Always."

She rises from the bench fluidly, sliding her own phone out of her pocket and composing a quick text message to Alexis at the same time. "Come on, we've been sat here long enough. I'm hungry."

His follows her and his chin rests on her shoulder as she writes, peering at the screen. _'I'm taking your Dad for lunch to distract him from the book. Use the time wisely, grasshopper… Whoop his ass. See you later kiddo :) Bx'_

"Er, Kate - what are you doing?"

She nudges his head with her own in a playful gesture, pressing 'Send' quickly. "Mind your own, Castle. Girl stuff." The phone buzzes again in her hand almost immediately, and she smiles as she reads the reply.

' _Sneaky! Power to the women! Game on... Ax'_

His brow crinkles in confusion. "Why do I suddenly feel like _all_ the women in my life are now ganging up on me?"

She smiles and slips the phone back into her pocket as she stands and reaches for his hand, tugging at him and pulling him up gently until they're walking step-in-step beside one another, coffee cups still in hand. "Never, Castle. You have an unhealthily suspicious mind, you know… Now, take me somewhere nice for lunch. I think I deserve it."

He smiles back, and squeezes at her hand again. "I'd say you more than deserve it." Leaning his head down a little, he whispers to her. "And I'm still proud of you. You made it."

"Yep." She gives his head an affectionate nudge in response. "I did, didn't I."


End file.
